


Precious

by ancslove



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bukkake, Face-Fucking, Imprisonment, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Kissing, Public Use, Victim treated as sextoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancslove/pseuds/ancslove
Summary: The barricades have fallen, and the King has taken Enjolras as his prize.  Yet even the darkest night will yield to a new dawn.





	Precious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonconamod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonconamod/gifts).



The bed was large and opulent, covered in the finest sheets and bedspreads. Soft pillows raised and cushioned his head. And strong posts held firm the chains imprisoning his wrists. Enjolras would have preferred the darkest dungeon to this luxurious cell.

“You are my most precious possession.”

A hand stroked gently through his hair, untangling the long locks. He shuddered involuntarily.

“The jewel of my court.”

Enjolras jerked away in protest, glaring at his captor. Louis-Philippe (they had tried so hard to beat the royal title into him, but he persisted in the one act of defiance still remaining to him) simply smiled down at him, the hand coming around to cup and caress his chin. His gaze was soft, paternal, and it made Enjolras’ skin crawl.

“The royal servants have never been happier. They delight in the glories of your fair face and the talents of your mouth. Isn’t that what you wanted? To bring comfort and succor to the downtrodden, using your silver tongue.”

Louis-Philippe tugged the silken gag loose, and swooped down to capture Enjolras’ lips in a deep kiss. His tongue forced its way into Enjolras’ unwilling mouth, conquering and claiming. Finally, he pulled back, and watched as Enjolras struggled for breath.

“I can taste my subjects’ essence in your sweet mouth. How many of my court did you serve today? How many noblemen spilled down your throat? How many kitchen boys marked your face today?”

Enjolras closed his eyes, trying not to remember. He spent his days in the throne room, sometimes draped in sheer silks and sometimes denied even that humiliating cover. And always, his wrists and ankles were chained tight, and his mouth forced helplessly open by a metal ring. And always, any who bore royal favor could strip him, grope him, kiss him, and use his mouth as they pleased. Louis-Philippe had sentenced Enjolras to a lifetime of servicing the royal court, and he greatly enjoyed seeing Enjolras’ mouth continuously violated.    

Today had been particularly rough. A group of courtiers had delighted in seeing who could outdo the others in fucking Enjolras’ face. Enjolras had struggled with cock after cock as he was pulled from one man to the next, choking on each mouthful of spilled seed. They beat him and pulled his hair, spitting lewd taunts. They had forced themselves deep into his throat, and then laughed as his lips tinged blue from lack of air. And then the games began. The noblemen had offered Enjolras to their manservants, and gambled on which would last the longest and who would force Enjolras to vomit or lose consciousness. They’d fucked his throat bloody, and left him sore and trembling. Afterward, as he sucked off the serving boys who washed away the filth, he could only be grateful that none of them tried to forcefully deepthroat him.

“Too many to remember, _mon chaton_? Perhaps I’ll start having you keep track for me. You could provide me with a daily report on who enjoyed your tight throat and who covered your face with their spend and who found pleasure from your hands.”

Enjolras flinched, pulled back to the present. _Chaton_ , Louis-Philippe often called him. His sweet, declawed, defanged kitten. Royal pet and court mascot. Humiliation and rage burned through Enjolras’ veins, but the repeated rapes had taken their toll on his body, much as he dreamed of breaking free, of avenging himself and his murdered friends, of bringing real comfort and freedom to the people. One day. Let Louis-Philippe think him a helpless and harmless toy. He knew how to wait.

Fingers glided over his face, smoothing back his hair and dipping into his mouth. Enjolras sucked on command and tried to steel himself for what was about to happen. His days always ended thus. In contrast to the countless people allowed free rein with his mouth, Louis-Philippe maintained greedy control over Enjolras’ other hole. Rarely did he offer Enjolras’ arse to his subjects, preferring instead to take Enjolras by force on the throne, once the court had had their fill. So far, he’d only given Enjolras fully to the leader who’d broken Enjolras’ barricade (Enjolras had fought it desperately, the loss of his friends and his own virginity almost too fresh to bear) and to a handful of foreign ambassadors, to celebrate new treaties.

         _“You should be pleased, chaton. You are ensuring the continued safety and prosperity of the people of France.” Enjolras had wanted to spit in his captor’s mocking face, but he was kept gagged whenever his mouth wasn’t being used._

Three fingers entered him roughly, and Enjolras swallowed a sob.

“Spread your legs for your king, sweet pet.”

Enjolras stayed still, but in the end, it didn’t matter. His legs were forced wide apart and his knees pressed to his shoulders. Louis-Philippe covered Enjolras’ mouth with his own, smothering his cry of pain, and pushed forward. It hurt. It always did, no matter how many times Enjolras was taken. Enjolras closed his eyes against the invasion of his mouth and body. His captor was heavy on top of him, every thrust driving his body into the bed. A rough, pounding rhythm began, and Enjolras could do nothing but clench his fists and try to endure.

“So tight and hot, sweetling. I have been thinking about your ideas, you know. And I believe you are right. The people do need more joy and relief in their lives.”

Enjolras looked up warily, wondering where this new torment was going. Louis-Philippe shoved the gag back in his mouth, and smiled cruelly.

“I have decided to provide the people with some pleasure for their cares and toil. Thus, once every fortnight, you will be bound in the public square, and well-deserving subjects will be able to use you as they please. I believe the people of Paris will be appropriately grateful and appreciative, as they see what awaits pretty pets who raise arms against the Crown. Don’t you agree?”

Enjolras shook his head, thrashing in his chains. He couldn’t. Even Louis-Philippe couldn’t possibly believe that a moment of physical pleasure could supersede true liberty and equality. He wouldn’t dare return Enjolras to the people, even for a day.

“After all, it isn’t right that hard-working, loyal subjects be denied a taste of your charms, simply because they aren’t noble-born. Such beauty as yours should be given to all.”

Enjolras moaned into his gag, and Louis-Philippe just laughed. His pace quickened, became harsher and more painful. The man delighted in varying the depth and angle of his thrusts, to inflict maximum pain. Then the slapping began – hard, open-handed blows to his face, shoulders, thighs. Finally, with one last, deep thrust, he came.

“But before your public debut, the brave men of the National Guard deserve a reward for all their good work. They quelled another riot today, did you hear? You will give your mouth to them tomorrow. And count yourself lucky that I don’t allow them your tight arse, too.”

Louis-Philippe was still talking, droning his personal mixture of insults, threats, and endearments. Enjolras barely registered his voice. Another riot? What did that mean? An uprising? A full emeute, to involve the Guard? Even if it were just a small squabble, it was heartening that the people still fought. They still believed. Even if Enjolras spent the rest of his days as the court catamite, servicing all who came with the tongue that had once given voice to grand ideals, others would come. Others would rise to take his place. Until the earth was free.


End file.
